


You Bring Out The Worst In Me

by fairyScorpicus



Category: Danger in Fiction (Cyndago), Markiplier TV (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Be Careful What You Wish For, Blood, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Control, Dark, Don't Read This, Eye Gouging, Gore, Headaches & Migraines, I Blame Tumblr, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Main Character Death, Mark Fischbach Egos, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control, Nonbinary Character, Other, Reader Whump, Reader-Insert, Ripping his own eyes out, SO, Sort Of, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary, Temporary Character Death, The Author is not a nice man!!!, Torture, WARNING THIS IS DARK, Why Did I Write This?, and he writes about people, and y/n is suicidal, but the author is relatively nice to y/n, controlling author, dark themes, in that whatever Author writes happens, literally thats his powers, look the author is not a nice man, nonbinary Y/N, nonbinary reader, so there is a bad combination here, the Author became Host by, we are going with The Headcanon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24409036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyScorpicus/pseuds/fairyScorpicus
Summary: Deep in the woods, where no one dare goes, where you can’t see the stars at night through the trees and the fog is so thick you can barely see your own shoes, there was a place. People would laugh at the town’s ghost stories, their whispers of monsters, their fear of the unnatural, and they would enter the woods and never return. In rare instances, they would, but covered in blood, usually their own, out of their minds with fear, babbling nonsensically.I didn’t bother waiting until night to go.
Relationships: The Author (Markiplier) & Y/N, The Author (markiplier)/reader, The Host (Markiplier) & Y/N, The Host (markiplier)/reader, they've got a quasi platonic thing going on
Comments: 27
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Markiplier one time, way before AHWM: Y/N should stand for Yancy Nancy lol
> 
> Me for the rest of enternity: Yancy Nancy the District Attourney
> 
> Mark: *makes AHWM* Yancy The Prisoner
> 
> Me: How long have you been sitting on that name. I know its been years

I know that life is supposed to be hard. I know that the suffering is what makes you know that it's real, that it highlights the good part. But there is nothing in the world that can prepare you for hard it is sometimes to get up after you get knocked down. Nothing tells you how to keep moving when you’re punched in the face by life before you had gotten up from the previous hit.

I was just so tired. If only I weren’t such a coward, maybe I could pick up that blade…

But I was lucky. There was a second option for me. Deep in the woods, where no one dare goes, where you can’t see the stars at night through the trees and the fog is so thick you can barely see your own shoes, there was a place. People would laugh at the town’s ghost stories, their whispers of monsters, their fear of the unnatural, and they would enter the woods and never return. In rare instances, they would, but covered in blood, usually their own, out of their minds with fear, babbling nonsensically.

The stories never matched up. They spoke of abandoned playgrounds, empty parking lots, even their own homes. They cried about dead friends, pieces of paper, a man with a baseball bat and a wicked smile. But in all the stories, there was always The Voice, narrating their every move and telling them what to do.

I didn’t bother waiting until night to go. I knew without light, I could very easily lose my way and maybe never enter The Voice’s domain.

I walked deeper and deeper into the woods, and the fog began to grow thicker and thicker.

_ As they walked, they felt their heart beat faster. _

Was it my imagination, or did my heart rate pick up? But there was no doubt: it was The Voice.

_ Wait, no. They enter the forest, heart pounding in their ears. _

I threw myself to the ground, head thrumming in tune with my heart.

_ They…  _ The Voice falters.  _ What are you doing? _

“Please!” I cry out, looking upwards. “Take me. Kill me like the others.”

_...What? _

“Kill me like the others,” I repeat.

_ Killing them wasn’t part of the plan, _ the Voice protests automatically.  _ I hadn’t meant to- Wait. You want me to… kill you? _

“You hadn’t?” I repeated, spirits falling.

_ They were my main characters, and I had just started writing their story, _ he said, as if that explained everything. Which, unfortunately, it did. I pressed my forehead to the ground with a groan.

“Can I be your main character or is that spot currently occupied?” I asked.

_ Well. Umm. You already are, I guess. Look, no one’s ever come here to die before. _

“What did they do?” I raise my head.

_ Not follow directions… _

I perked up. Seems easy enough.

“Okay, tell me what to do!” I sit up.

_ See, you say that, but I know you’ll just do the opposite.  _ The Voice sounded torn between amused and annoyed.  _ I could just say opposite of what I wanted, and then you’d do what I want. _

“Or I could follow those directions,” I countered.

_ But then I could ask what I really wanted, and you wouldn’t know if I were saying the opposite or not! _

We both paused, and I found myself chuckling lightly for the first time in months.

_ They find a cabin in the woods, _ The Voice offered quickly, rushed and stilted.  _ The go inside to meet the owner of the voice? _

I didn’t move, hesitating, and the Voice sighed.

_ I’m writing all this and my hand is cramping. _

I stepped forward, trusting the Voice to put the cabin in the path ahead. I don’t know why I did it. Curiosity, perhaps? One last thing to learn before I die? Or perhaps something else, but nonetheless I found myself outside a cabin. The lights were on, and I walked in without knocking.

“Hey!” The man inside barked from his desk, dropping his pen and sitting up. I stopped and stared at the owner of the voice.

The man was on the younger side. His short, dark hair was spiked upwards, and his black polo shirt was snug, vague indents suggesting underlying muscle. He looked back at me in return.

“Well.” said the man at last. “Greetings, Yancy Nancy.”

“Should I be surprised that you know my name?” I ask dryly, and he chuckles.

“I am the Author,” he throws his arm out dramatically and I look at him in awe, realizing that I know the name belonging to The Voice. He smiles nervously at me.

“Look,” he says finally, running his hand through his hair uselessly. “I want to make a deal. You intrigue me, and I don’t feel comfortable intentionally killing you.” I gape at him in disbelief. “How about this. You stay here with me, help me out, clean up and stuff, who knows, and in return you can get away from a lot of stress of life. Maybe you’ll feel better.” I frowned at him.

“It doesn’t just work like that.”

“I know,” he sighed. “God, I know. But without all that weight of life on you, maybe it gives you room to improve.” I frown. The one thing capable of killing me won’t do it, and there’s no way I can bear to return to the life I previously had. I stuck out my hand.

“Fine. Deal.” The Author cracked a jagged grin at my words. He shook my hand slowly and firmly, and it felt like I had sold my soul to the devil.

“No take backs,” He said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living with the Author is not recommended.

Life was… okay. Sometimes I felt like Cinderella, trapped in her castle with nothing to do but get yelled at by her ugly stepmother and stepsisters, forced to do chores. But other times, it felt… nice.

Now was not one of those times.

“Help me clean up all this blood!” he hollered at me from across the cabin. I snarled at him.

“Maybe if you murdered that young woman outside then we wouldn’t have to!” I shouted back. I turned to stomp away, but I didn’t go farther than 5 steps before my feet turned me around without my permission.

“Don’t you dare!” I shrieked. “This is your problem, not mine!”

_ They helped the Author clean up the mess, _ the Voice crowed smugly.

I flipped him the bird.

The smile faded slightly.

“Asshole!” I cried out as I grabbed the mop.

“We all chip in under my roof and exercise is supposed to be good for your mental health! I can’t have you lazing around all day!”

“You know that's not what they meant by exercise!”

“Would you rather go run through the woods?”

“Yes!” He glared at me.

“You are cleaning up,” he hissed in my face, and stomped off.

"Sensitive prick! Don't make me clean this up by myself!"

I angrily cleaned up the mess alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Author??? has feelings??? DENIAL  
> oh look also he tortures a man

The young man struggled in the chair weakly, waking up in an unknown room. He looked up, blood running down his face.

“Where am I?” He cried into the dimly lit room.

“You had displeased me,” The Author growled, stalking forward with his black baseball bat on his shoulders. “Why won’t you listen?” With a snarl of frustration, he swung his bat into the man’s side. The man cried out, slumping forward.

"The man received a broken rib," The Author said dryly, and kicked him in the chest for good measure. There was a crack.

"Yup, definitely a broken rib," he cackled.

“You haven’t even talked to him yet,” a voice called out from another room, and The Author snorted derisively.

“He didn’t listen before, why would he listen now?” He snapped back. He swung a hit at the bound man's face.

But the man tied to the chair had perked up at the sound of another voice.

“Help! Help me!” he cried out desperately, fighting the ropes that restrained him. Snarling, the Author rained a few more blows on the man.

"Silence!"

The voice in the other room laughed, sounding off.

“I’d take your place if I could,” The Author scowled at the empty doorway, baseball bat forgotten in his hands.

“Shut the hell up with that kind of talk, Yancy! I won’t stand for it!” he barked.

“Wait,” the tied-up man said groggily. “Yancy? As in Yancy Nancy? Everyone thought they died! Their parents-” The young man choked, his bound hands failing to reach his torn throat. His feet kicked against the floor weakly as he drew his last breath.

The Author stood over him, chest heaving.

“I won’t let you take them away from me,” he breathed out, and frowned. Where had that intrusive thought come from?   


“Author?” He saw them approach out of his peripherals. “Why’d you stop- oh,” they exclaimed softly. He tensed, mind churning up defensive rebuttals- “You’re all covered in blood.” Gentle fingers pried the bat out of his hands.

“You aren’t going to ask?” He uttered in tentative surprise, and they sighed.

“I don’t pretend to know why you didn't give him a chance, but there’s always others.” they said, then paused hopefully. “Like me,”

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, fight out of his voice. “You won’t ever end up in that chair.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 Part 1
> 
> in which Mistakes Are Made
> 
> Be careful with your wording, my dear Author

“Aww, does the poor baby have a headache?” A mocking voice rang above him.

“Shut the hell up, Yancy,” the Author snarled, covering his ears. “It’s a goddamn migraine, and if you don’t give me some peace and quiet I’ll give you one too.”

“No way am I leaving,” They snapped back. “You annoy the shit out of me all the time, and if you don’t think I’m getting some payback, then you’re dead wrong.”

“Shut up!” he barked back, the sound of his own voice making him want to throw up. With strength he didn’t know he had, he forced himself over towards his work table. “I’ll fucking do it.” He fumbled for a pen, eyes shut tight to keep out the light. He felt for one and scooped it up victoriously.

“Oh, but the baby can’t even hold a pen!” Deft fingers snatched the writing utensil out of his grip and he swung a fist out towards them, eyes still shut. He missed miserably, and their mocking laugh made him wince in pain.

“Please stop,” he gasped. “Please.”

“Oh, a little noise won’t kill you,” they scoffed back.

“I should kill you for this,” he growled back, amusement gone.

“Oh, we’d both like that, but you won’t. Besides, I’m only being as mean as you.” They sang back, and he turned his head to snarl at them but threw up instead. He pressed his hands harder against his ears, trying to also dig his fingers into the pain in his temples at the same time.

“Eww,” they said.

“That’s it,” he snarled, and grabbed another pen. He felt for paper and began to write.

_ Both the migraine and Yancy ceased. _

And then there was silence. Blissful silence. The pain faded from his head, and he lowered his hands in relief. He opened his eyes to look at what he wrote.

“Look at this, Yancy,” he jeered back. “I shut both of you up!”

And then he turned towards them.

He should have been more careful with his wording.


	5. Chapter 5

He hadn't even heard them collapse, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"Yancy?" He sank to his knees, reaching out and hesitating centimeters away from their face.

Nothing.

He pressed his fingers against their neck.

No pulse.

Wait. **No pulse.**

"No," he said, grabbing their head and cradling it. "No, no!"

Cease. How could he have been so stupid? Why couldn't he had said stop. 'Stop' wouldn't have **killed** them! He knows it! Hadn't he learned by now the importance of wording? Cease. With a cry of devastation, he scooped up their body. Their head lolled without the support of his hands. They were well and truly dead.

“No no no,” he nearly wailed, forcing himself away from their limp body. It had been an accident! He hadn’t meant it, he hadn’t! He had to fix it. He had to. He scrambled for his pen with desperate fingers.

_ The Author brought them back to life. _

Nothing happened. He wrote again.

_ The Author brought Yancy Nancy back to life. _

He looked back at the body. Blood was beginning to pool around them. Their lifeless eyes stared back, unseeing. He hiccuped, fighting back a sob. Why couldn’t he erase his own words? Why had he written in pen?

_ Yancy Nancy lived. _

Perhaps it required more power?! He pulled out an inkwell filled with his own blood, meant for the rare visions he received, to be written down for no one’s eyes except his own.

_ Yancy Nancy opened their eyes, alive once more, and breathed. _

There was no change. This can’t be happening. The Author wrenched himself away from his worktable, feverishly scooping up his favorite knife. It must require more power. With his dominant hand, he held the blade over his other arm.

“I won’t let you take them away from me!” he shouted.

_ The Author took Yancy Nancy back from Death itself. _

He choked back cries of pain as the blood ran down his arm. A gasp sounded behind him, and he spun around, knife clattering to the floor. He couldn't care less about the mess he had caused.

They sat up, the blood staining their clothes and the floor beneath them gone. They rubbed their face, looking up at him in bewilderment.

“Author? What happened? Why are you covered in blood?” They moved to sit up, concerned, but the Author darted over, wrapping his bloody arms around them in a desperate hug.

“It’s alright now,” he soothed. “I’m so sorry.”

"There's blood everywhere," they said, trying to pull back to look at his face. The Author only tightened his grip. "I hope its you who's going to clean up that mess."

"Of course," he hiccuped, before he could catch himself. "Of course."

"Good," they said, no longer fighting his embrace. "I feel weird, and not even a good weird." He ducked his head away from them and finally let go. They struggled to their feet. "My legs feel like they fell asleep," they complained. "And my arms." They paused. "Everything, really." They looked at him with a dramatic sigh and held out an arm. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"No, no." he said, standing without their help. "I can take care of it myself." He didn't need them knowing that they died. Because they hadn't.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. this is short yikes  
> 2\. This is probably going to become a less coherent story because I wanna jump back to the Author but I also wanted to write this  
> 3\. I really love Doctor Discord ( https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord )'s idea for how the Author became the Host, which you can find in their series ( https://archiveofourown.org/series/1236998 ) but fair warning its pretty gory

The Author had always had visions. They were... manageable. They left him with terrible headaches, but they were also rare.

He doesn't know when it changed. When they became more frequent. And they started to make even less sense. Instead of flashes of new victims, they started showing people like him. A monochrome man. A flash of pink. And alternate dimensions, as well. A young man squatting over his head, farting. Himself, facing down a man in a red bathrobe. At least, he hoped they were alternate dimensions.

The problem is that they wouldn't go away, and the realization that there was nothing he could do.

He thinks he knows how Yancy Nancy feels.

He thinks he's starting to understand, now, why his offer of help was unappealing.

The Author wanted to sleep forever, but every time he closed his eyes, the visions came.

Every. Damn. Time.

It wasn't until he got into an argument with Yancy so bad that they stomped out of the house did he realize how to stop the visions.

_ “Author?” Footsteps sounded, approaching. Blood dripped steadily into the sink. _

_ “Author?” they repeated uneasily. “Why are you… narrating?” They approached the bathroom where the Voice was coming from. They could hear his frantic muttering, half-deranged. As his mouth moved, he could taste the thick blood trail past his lips. _

_ “Author?” The door started to crack open. “Are you okay?” _

_ No, he replies at last. And I am not the Author. He heard them gasp, hand over mouth, followed by the sound of vomiting. Their gaze never left his. Or rather, where his should be, for they were met with his empty, bleeding, eye sockets. _

_ I am the Host, he said. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hnnngggg i brought the egos into this but they'll only be here for like three disconnected chapters at most because sorry but we don't have medical expertise in this household

No one dared enter the woods.

Many times I had gotten fed up, stomping away after a screaming match with the Author, into the woods with no destination in mind. He was rude, I didn't need him, and I could go find someone else who would actually kill me.

But I always ended up back near the cabin. It was no doubt the Author's doing- I could walk in a straight line for an hour, push a branch out of my face, and then I would end up right back where I started.

No one came in. No one could leave.

The Author would always frown when I threatened to leave.

"You made a deal!" He'd scream at the back of my head.

Only once did he tell me to leave the house.

"Get out."

I looked up from my painting I had been drawing in boredom.

"Excuse me?"

"Get out." He jerked his hand towards the door. "Quickly." He didn't sound mad. Maybe... unsettled? So I left without question.

As I stepped out the door, my ears began to ring. I darted off away from the house, inexplicably afraid. I could've sworn I heard another voice. But no one comes here.

As I wandered away, I found myself troubled. I had been walking in a straight line, but I knew I would inevitably end up by the house again. But how would I know that it would be safe to go back in? Unless the Author meant for me to leave permanently, and that was why the house hadn't appeared yet...

I found myself upset at the notion of going away. All the times I had tried to escape after our arguments and I didn't want to really leave?

The longer I walked, the more my thoughts turned on myself. What had I done to upset him this time that was more special than the others?

I finally sat down on a rock, legs starting to tire. The sun had definitely moved since I left the house, and now I was starting to worry. Would I hit civilization eventually? Go back to the life I had so desperately tried to escape? I couldn't do that, I was a coward. I buried my head in my hands and breathed out slowly, trying to push away the thoughts. I'd figure it out. I always did.

"There you are," said a voice, and I liked up to see the Author standing there, looking a little tired and holding his baseball bat. He held out his hand. "Come on."

I took his hand, too tired to start an argument.

"What happened?" The Author grimaced.

"A... friend. Came by. I thought it was best if he didn't know about you." Clearly this man was not a friend, if the Author's tone gave any indication.

"I didn't know you had friends," I teased lightly. He looked at me.

"I'd like to think I have just the one." I frowned.

"The guy?"

"No," He said.

"Are you going to tell me about him?" The Author frowned.

"Who?"

"The guy," I repeated. "Obviously, you're not going to tell me about your friend, so tell me about the guy you kicked me out of the house for." The Author pushed a branch out oft he way and the cabin popped into sight. He paused, looking at me.

"He is incredibly dangerous," He said. "I don't want you to go anywhere near him."

"How will I know it's him?" I asked. The Author sighed.

"He's not like any person you would ever meet in your village. He's not human." My eyebrows shot up. "And he's more powerful than me," The Author admitted, and I blinked in shock. "I think you'd know him when you see him." He started walking again, towards the house.

"Okay," I said slowly. "If I meet a guy like that, I'll keep away from him."

No one dared enter the woods.

"Anyone?!" I screamed. "Is there anyone out there?!"

There was no answer. I turned back to the limp body.

"Author, stay awake!"

"Not the Author," He slurred out. I shook him by his blood-covered shoulders.

"Why did you do this if you couldn't heal yourself?" I shouted at him. He only groaned in response.

"Author!"

"Host," He said, sounding miles away. I looked around, but couldn't find any medical supplies.

"Don't you die on me!" I shouted, hopping to my feet. "I'm going to find you some help!" I struggled to pick him up bridal style. He was lighter than I thought he'd be, but still heavy, and I was thankful that I at least had some muscle.

"Come on," I said desperately, leaving the house.

"Don't take me there," he said suddenly. "Don't you dare,"

"Take you where?" I asked, trudging forward, out of curiosity, and also in an attempt to keep him talking.

"Don't take me there," He repeated, head lolling. I tried to move faster.

"Hello?" I screamed. "Can anyone help?"

"Oh my god," Came a voice, and I spun around. A man stood there, wearing a crown and a cape, peanut butter smeared across his face. He looked like...

"Author?" I asked in confusion.

"Oh my god!" The man shouted. "It's the Author!" He ran past me, to the direction I was headed, shrieking. I tried to follow him, but he darted away with lightning speed.

"Wait!" I shouted. "Come back! Please!" I stumbled slightly with the Author's weight.

But the man was gone.

"Who was that?" I demanded, but the Author had fallen unconscious.

I took another step forward, and my ears started to ring and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Alarm bells rang in my mind. I froze, watching as the colors of the forest mute themselves.

Someone was standing behind me.

"Who are you?" Came a voice, low and glitching. I turned slowly to face the man. Or monster.

It was the Author, except it wasn't. He was monochrome and exuded power and danger. I knew at once this was the man the Author had warned me about. I took a step back.

"I don't ask twice," The man snarled. I swallowed back my fear to the best of my ability.

"He needs help," I managed. The man looked at the Author, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Blue and red glitched through the monochrome trees, bring a bit of color back.

"Please," I tried again when the man didn't say anything.

The man cracked his neck, causing the ringing in my ears to strengthen.

"Fine," he growled. "Family helps family and all that." He suddenly appeared directly in front of me, so close that I could touch him. He grabbed the Author from my hands and disappeared before I could move, leaving me alone in the forest covered in blood. The colors were back, and my ears no longer rang.

"Hello?" I called out in shock, but I was alone. I ran towards the direction that the crowned man had gone, but as I went around a tree, the Author's cabin jumped into my path. Dazed, I stepped through the door. Only then did I process the monochrome man's words.

"Family?!"


	8. Chapter 8

The Author wasn't always rude and mean and a pig, I had to admit to myself. Sometimes, when he was in a particularly good mood, he'd dance.

He wasn't very good at casually dancing. For him, it was ballroom dancing or nothing.

"Come join me," He called, feet expertly placed and arms out. It seemed cruel to break these special moments, this peaceful moment, so I sighed and stepped forward. He placed his hands at my shoulder and side.

"I see you're leading," I teased, and he grinned.

"Of course I am!" He probably only knew the leading part, but I never called him out on it. He started stepping smoothly, and after a few moments, I caught onto the pattern and followed.

"Quick learner," He congratulated, and I smiled back. He switched spots with me. "Do you know the Viennese Waltz?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head softly in amusement.

"It's similar to this," He explained softly. "But has more turns in it." He spun me softly to annunciate his point. "Some people call it the Turning Waltz."

"Do you only know Waltz?" I teased, and he grinned, letting me get away with it without a fight.

"Would you prefer we did the tango? A foxtrot?" He released me for a short moment, tapping out some quick footwork before returning to the waltz and grabbing hold of me again, both hands and feet as light as a butterfly. I whistled in faux appreciation.

"I don't know those dances either," He chuckled.

"I noticed." He started dancing slower.

"Tell me, what's the occasion?" I asked, and he shrugged, exchanging spots with me again smoothly, never missing a beat.

"Almost done with my book," he replied. "It's a shame I couldn't keep the same guy for the whole story to test out the plot on, but I have my eye on a man who seems mostly the same as the original protagonist. He could play along enough for me to finish the book."

"Congrats," I said, almost immune to the horrors he wrought on other people just because of the sheer amount of blood I had faced by now. He grinned in response.

"Soon I'll be breaking out the nice champagne," he teased as he spun me slowly.

We danced for a few moments more before the Author glimpsed outside the window.

"Why, its already dark outside!" he exclaimed softly.

"You have been working hard," I reminded him. He released me gently.

"I have," he agreed. "And now its time for me to retire."

"Get that well-earned rest," I agreed, smiling.

He slipped off to bed, leaving me in the room, still reluctantly swaying to the nonexistent music.

Of course, those moments never lasted.

He had writer's block in the morning.


End file.
